


what the hand dare seize the fire

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Series: tyger, tyger, burning bright [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Gift Fic, POV First Person, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you respond to every uncertain situation with aggressive insolence, or am I special?"  Ms. Romanoff got tired of waiting for me to come to her and came smoothly up the walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what the hand dare seize the fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edenfalling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/gifts).



> Set post-"White Night" but pre-"Changes" for the Dresden Files novels, and immediately after "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" for the MCU. Titled, as with the previous bit in this universe, from [The Tyger](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172943) by William Blake.

The door of my office opened without warning to admit a cloud of stinging white smoke, and I immediately shook out my shield bracelet on pure reflex. I slammed up an arc of energy between me and whatever was incoming, then scuttled back out of my chair, wondering if this was related to the nightmares that had woken half the precognitives in Chicago in a panic every morning the last week.

If so, I was a little underwhelmed. That old homily about the burnt hand teaching best? It was more than usually literal in my case. My upgraded shield was rated to keep out everything from bullets to flamethrowers to the vacuum of space; a gust of apparently ordinary tear gas just didn't rate.

Two men wearing combat gear marked with skull-faced octopus logos followed the gas through the door a few seconds later. Both carried bulky-looking pistols with CO2 canisters mounted under the barrel, and I hastily refocused the shield into a reflective wall in front of them.

The goons flinched, suddenly faced with mirror images coming back at them, and fired. Feathery darts shot out, ricocheted off the shield, and scattered to the corners of my office, skewering nothing but dust bunnies.

I admit, I've got out of the habit of cleaning since a group of brownies took over the maintenance of my apartment, but I didn't think they were out of control enough to need tranquilizing! I snorted, then dropped the shield and swept my other hand forward, snapping my blasting rod into my hand with the movement. A quick _Forzare_ swept the two men off their feet, tossing them back through the door.

A chorus of grunts and swearing announced the presence of more men; I slammed the door shut in front of them, secured it with a locking spell, then picked up the phone and called the Chicago PD. 

If they'd been ghouls or goblins, I'd have put in a little more effort. But render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and these guys were pretty clearly from the mundane side of the tracks. They had _no_ idea what they were dealing with if they'd seriously thought they could take a wizard head-on with a few mercenary tricks.

That taken care of, I grabbed my duster and staff, slashed open a portal to the Nevernever, and took a few careful steps through to the other side. Most of the Ways I know in Chicago open into either the Winter or Summer territories of the Fae-- not the safest of places for a wizard, even when the White Council and the Queens are _not_ at odds-- and not worth the trouble for casual jaunts. But I'd scouted out the area across from my office once after being accosted there by Mab, in hopes of discovering a quick getaway for future use, and found a little thorny dell there, barely six steps wide.

I got the impression something occasionally denned in that spot, so I didn't visit often, and only during the day. But those six steps were far enough to take me three floors down and right into the building's stairwell: magical metaphysics at their finest. I shrugged on the magically reinforced coat, then darted across, swept my staff through the air in another _Apartum_ , and hurried down the steps toward the ground floor.

Two more goons lurked by the external doors of the building, though in streetwear, not quasi-military bad guy chic like their friends. It was mostly their guarded posture and the wariness in their faces that gave them away. Inspired by the tactics of their buddies upstairs, I made a sweeping motion with my staff, then jerked it sharply upward, casting the last few days' worth of crumbled dirt, dead skin cells, and tracked-in pollen from the entryway floor into their faces.

"Sternue," I murmured. "Sternuite!" 

The goon nearest me suddenly twitched, a very peculiar cross-eyed look on his face, then clapped a hand over his mouth and tried to stifle a sneeze. From the explosive choking sounds that followed, it wasn't very effective. The other guy twitched hard, blinking and snorting out sharp little retorts of air, and I called up a veil and darted between them while their eyes were still watering.

The next hurdle I faced was deciding where to go next. Would my attackers be waiting at the apartment, too? That depended, I supposed, on who they actually were.

I hurried away from the building, turning the thought over in my mind. The last time I'd faced generic mooks like these, they'd answered to Marcone, but Gentleman Johnny and I had moved way past the assault weapon stage of our relationship in recent years. And no other criminal organization would dare assault a supposed ally of Marcone's in the mob boss' own city. The only other clue I had was the insignia the first batch had been sporting, tacky in a comic book villain kind of way.

Maybe literally? Recognition sparked at that thought. _HYDRA?_ But why would they be after me?

I'd heard about the fascist organization's reemergence on the news, along with everyone else in the world. Brawny-wizards and televisions might go together about as well as trying to brush your teeth while eating an Oreo cookie, but I had an old radio I could usually keep in working order, and every newsstand I had passed over the last couple of days had been shrieking about the implosion of SHIELD in 72-point type. But I hadn't expected it to affect me personally. The World War II version of HYDRA had had Johann Schmidt and his obsession with Norse artifacts to extend their reach into the preternatural world... and, when it amused him, the heavyweight necromancer Kemmler. But both practitioners had been stone dead-- signed, sealed, and verified seven times over by the Wardens in Kemmler's case-- for more than half a century. 

If HYDRA _had_ finally picked up another warlock for their payroll, surely they'd have known better than to come at Harry Dresden, known wizard detective and Warden, with the equivalent of stone knives and slingshots? Then again, I _was_ listed in the Chicago phone book. Maybe they'd decided that since their cover had already been blown, they might as well do a little resource acquisition with a bang?

That didn't scan either, though; because why even come to Chicago when there was an easier target out in California? I actually wasn't the only wizard advertising to the public anymore, not since my ex Elaine had decided to copy my moves. I wouldn't call her vulnerable, but compared to a lanky guy better than six and a half feet tall who carries a length of lightning-struck oak, I know which _I'd_ choose to tackle. And I'd have heard via the Paranet if Elaine had been attacked.

Never mind; smart money said to expect more visitors, regardless. HYDRA had been embedded in the largest intelligence organization in the world for decades; if they'd found my office, they'd be able to find my home address, too.

Of course, smart money also said that if their people there were no more prepared for me than the ones I'd already faced, I might be able to reverse their ambush with minimal risk and pick up the answers for myself. A few years ago, I might've just gone to ground somewhere until they gave up and counted myself lucky, but I'd lost my patience for reactive engagement over the years. Too many people had used me and mine as pawns on their playing boards, leaving me scrambling for survival; that wasn't going to happen this time.

I left the Beetle snug in the parking garage near my office, the better to avoid another potential encounter in a public space, then caught a cab over to the roomy old house I lived beneath. The wizard in the cave thing may be sort of a medieval fantasy cliché, but it _does_ happen to be the best climate control available when central heating and air conditioning both tend to break around me on a regular basis.

The cab driver let me out a block and a half away, and I veiled myself up again for the short walk. The closer I got to the house, though, the tenser I got. I saw no fresh goons on the sidewalk or loitering near the steps down to my apartment door, but I did see several scuff marks in the grass. And one beautiful redheaded woman, perched on the edge of the stairwell, absently filing her nails.

For about half a second, I thought my faerie godmother had come to visit, and my breath seized in my chest. The last time I'd seen Lea she'd been ranting and raving in a couple of distinct personalities and voices while half-entombed in ice at the heart of the Winter Court, so it was kind of an alarming prospect to find her loitering outside my home. But after I got past that first moment of blind panic, reason set in; while the woman waiting for me was in fact slender and scarlet-haired and intimidatingly beautiful, she didn't have the height, the ageless quality, or the catlike eyes of the Fae.

It wasn't the Leanansidhe. But whoever she was, she definitely wasn't mundane. I was still functionally invisible when I paused at the foot of the walk to choke on my own tongue, but she turned her head anyway, raising an eyebrow as her gaze fixed on the spot where I was standing.

"Mr. Dresden?" she said smoothly, voice low and serene as she got to her feet and made the nail file disappear up a sleeve. "Having a rough day?"

Keeping the veil up at that point was obviously a pointless waste of energy; I frowned and dropped it, wondering if she might be from one of the vampire Courts, or one of the networks of lesser practitioners working with the White Council against the bloodsuckers. There were all kinds of options, but none that seemed especially likely. Especially given the warning chime of my own intuition, the HYDRA attack, and the recent premonitory nightmares that had plagued the city. Something new was going on, and she was a part of it.

"Depends on your definition of rough," I shrugged, staying where I was. If she was anything other than human, the last place I wanted to be was within arm's reach of her if she decided to get frisky. "By mine? A little under par. But the day's not over yet."

An amused smirk tugged at her mouth. "It's been a long time since HYDRA's dealt with a White Council trained wizard. But then, you aren't exactly ordinary even by that measure. They'll adjust their methods."

"And if I cut one head off, two will grow back in its place?" I raised an eyebrow in return. I wasn't used to people just bringing up the White Council out in public, particularly if they didn't already belong to it; it was a little like Fight Club in that respect. "Am I to infer that you represent the next head, Ms....?"

Her smirk faded. "Romanoff. And if you know who they are, there's no excuse for your asking that question."

"Romanoff?" I frowned; that did ring a bell, from one of the radio broadcasts. "The agent from SHIELD, the one that released all the information about HYDRA online?"

"The same." She inclined her head.

"And that's supposed to make me _less_ suspicious of you?" I raised my eyebrows further. "Though I do have to say, you're exactly as attractive in person as your voice on the radio suggests."

"Do you respond to every uncertain situation with aggressive insolence, or am I special?" Ms. Romanoff got tired of waiting for me to come to her and came smoothly up the walk. She was dressed down in skinny jeans and a striped hoodie that wouldn't have looked out of place on a college student, but her stride was all predator. The 'danger, Harry Dresden' nerves flaring up my spine grew even more insistent in their warning.

"I'm an equal opportunity offensiveness kind of guy," I shrugged. "Why are you here, Ms. Romanoff?"

"To offer a warning. You may have heard about the information I released online, but somehow I doubt you've had a chance to look through it?"

It was my turn to smirk, guessing she had at least one tech device on her person and more likely several. I summoned up a touch of will and released it. "Hexus."

The snap and acrid smoke of expensive electronic devices failing with enthusiasm rose from her pocket, her ear, and around her wrists. She swore, shedding the Bluetooth, her phone, and the bracelets she'd been wearing with extreme prejudice. "Was that really necessary?"

"Ask an obvious question, get an obvious answer," I shrugged, wearing my best innocent expression.

"Seriously?" She sighed, looking suddenly exasperated-- and oddly enough, my hackles started to lower. Because that was the expression of a woman _used_ to dealing with a guy who could do with a little housebreaking and a mouthful of soap on a regular basis... and not killing him for it.

Chastened, and a little relieved, I tucked the blasting rod back into a pocket and held my hands out, palms up. "Sorry. Sudden attack of assholitis. You're right; I don't respond well to ambiguous threats-- or warnings. What's in that data that would bring the highly ranked intelligence agent who revealed it in the first place to a wizard's front door?"

"Perhaps that's a topic we shouldn't be discussing in public," she suggested, stepping to one side so she was no longer standing between me and the door in question.

I didn't like the idea of inviting her behind my wards. Still, she had a point. And Mouse was inside; if she chose to go on the offensive, she'd have to deal not only with me, but my Foo Dog as well.

"Step into my parlor," I muttered, giving her a wide berth as I passed, then put my key in the lock and shoulder-blocked the heavy security door. She followed me in, cool eyes sweeping over the more comfortable than functional furnishings, finishing on the rugs covering the trap door down to my subbasement lab.

"So? The data?" I asked once the door was shut behind us, crossing my arms.

She gave a mirthless smile. "The satellite targeting information for a flying weapon of mass destruction."

I gave her an unimpressed look. "As far as most wizards are concerned, satellites are little more than potential KEWs; try again." I knew that first-hand; my second mentor had used one to wipe a Red Court fortress off the map.

"Most older wizards, perhaps. But how many of your generation live where the grid can find them? Those helicarriers that crashed into the Potomac were programmed with a list of twenty million threats to the new world order. I guarantee your name, and those of many of your friends, were among them. And now that Project Insight has failed and they've been publically exposed, they may try any of a number of alternative methods of crossing them out."

Twenty _million_? That was certainly a statistic worthy of an organization that used to work for the Nazis. And certainly a threat big enough to prompt a city's worth of prophetic dreams.

"The ones who came to my office were certainly armed for capture, not kill," I replied. "But how would they even have known to come after me in the first place? The last wizard who worked for them was Kemmler, and he died in 1961; if they'd posed a more recent threat, the Wardens would already have been aware of them."

"So sure of that, are you? Let me ask you a question. How many new wizards are identified every year? Have you compared the percentage of the population before the rise of HYDRA to after? Like I said, it's been a long time since they've dealt with a classically trained wizard-- but that doesn't mean they stopped being aware of them, or tracking their bloodlines to exploit in other ways."

That made an uncomfortable amount of sense; the White Court had recently killed several dozen female practitioners with an exploit of their own in mind: wiping out _homo sapiens magus_ by killing the women who would bear the next generation. Magic did run in families, almost exclusively down the female line.

"What sort of exploits?" I had to ask, frown deepening.

She gave me a searching look, then held out a hand, stepping into the bubble of personal space I'd been carefully maintaining.

I eyed the offered hand like a poisonous snake, then reach out to clasp her delicate fingers, curiosity winning out over caution.

Leashed power buzzed against my fingertips under her skin, enough to have qualified her for White Council membership. But it had been tamped so far down, twisted and inverted, that I hadn't sensed anything until we'd touched.

"I could show you. But then I might have to kill you," she said, dryly. "I don't work for them anymore-- but they were the ones who made me what I am."

A shiver ran down my spine. "You have my full attention."

"Good," she replied, then slipped her fingers out of mine and reached into her pocket.

She pressed a rectangle of stiff paper into my hand then: a business card bearing a contact number for someone named Coulson. "I can't stay-- they'll have noticed my presence here by now-- but call this number if you have any more questions."

I had a lot more questions already; but I knew better than to try to keep her by force. "I will."

"Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Dresden," she smirked at me again, then pulled the door open as easily as if it had never been misaligned on its hinges.

"Pleasure meeting you, too, Ms. Romanoff," I lied in reply.

Then I shut the door behind her, looked at the card again, and headed for my land line to try another number entirely.

If I was on HYDRA's list? Then Carlos Ramirez, the Warden Commander of the West Coast and several years my junior, was certainly on it as well. Time to compare notes. And then....

The last thing the White Council needed was another war, on top of the one with the Red Court. But if one had already been declared against us? We had plans to make, and there was no time to be lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: A follow-up to "in what distant deeps or skies". Scenario: Natasha has to inform the wizards that HYDRA was aware of them and they were on the Project Insight target list.


End file.
